


The Sunlit Mermaid

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F, Meet-Cute, Mermaid Annette, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Hilda combs for seashells to break up her monotony. She finds far more when she overhears a spunky mermaid’s song.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	The Sunlit Mermaid

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 7 of [Annette Rarepair Week](https://twitter.com/annetterprwk): Fairy Tale AU

_Once upon a time, in a land…_

“Blah, blah away.” Hilda closes her book and rolls over. Yawning, she stares at her bed’s lacy canopy before turning to the fishbowl on top of her antique dresser. “I bet it ends like the last one, too.” 

Her fish swims in place against the glass. Other than its bright orange scales, it’s not the most interesting pet, but it doesn’t demand walks like Holst’s giant dog. 

“Might as well go down to the beach. I’m trusting you to hold down the fort, Sparkle,” she says in her best imitation of Holst—talking to his dog, of course.

Outside the manor, clouds steal most of the sky’s color, their grey just light enough that she doesn’t duck inside. The humidity still makes her sundress stick to her skin. She ambles down the winding cobblestone path until the cliffs rise above her and the sand stretches before her. 

She slips out of her shoes and sinks her toes in the cool sand. It’ll be a pain later, but she’s come to terms with shaking it loose from everything. For now, she listens to the ebb and flow of the waves while she collects seashells. One delicate, opalescent shell would fit on a bracelet for Marianne. Hopefully it’s sunnier wherever she is; she gets even more sluggish than Hilda when it’s dark.   
  
Ahead, sunlight streams through a gap in the clouds. Hilda wanders toward it. The shadow of an outcropping falls over her before she reaches the light. Already bored of the flat beach, she finds a foothold to climb over the rocky side. Not that she came out here to get sweaty, but there’s nobody around to see her flex her muscles and ask her for great heroics.

As she climbs, a melody reaches her. Well, it’s not quite _melodic_ in the way Dorothea’s performances are—but it’s energetic, like the sun might have slipped free to listen. Who’s using the Gonerils’ beach to rehearse? Hilda reaches the top and peeks over. The sight almost makes her lose her grip.

Just off the shore, a woman around her age sits on a flat rock. Her scantily dressed upper body gyrates to her song, her flailing arms almost distracting from the long, fish-like tail that extends from her waist into the water. From a distance, it’s hard to tell if the spots along her skin are freckles or scales. Sunbeams fall over the rock, shining off the water that drips from the woman’s ginger hair. 

Holst always claimed monsters were real, though never quite the same as in tales. Hilda’s last book told of sirens whose haunting melodies lured sailors to their doom. This one chimes about _bubbly, frothy bubbles_ , like that’s not redundant. 

“Fishies, fishies, swimming in the weeds…” Arms overhead, she sways, like the fish are going to come swim around her. Hilda can’t help but smile.

She swings up on top of the outcropping and sits with her legs dangling over the edge. It’s no opera balcony, but it'll do. At the song’s end, she claps. The woman squeaks and flaps her arms, slipping off the rock and into the water with a splash. 

“Sorry,” Hilda calls down. “I just didn’t want to interrupt your pretty song.”

The top half of the woman’s head pokes out, her wet hair clinging to her creased brow. She lifts her face to speak. “I know it isn’t pretty! You didn’t have to come out just to laugh—” She stops and gapes at Hilda’s legs. “Wait, are you a human?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever had to ask, but yes. You can just call me Hilda.”

The woman’s eyes, giant blue bubbles, lift to Hilda’s face. “I’m Annette. Sorry, this is awkward…” Her cheeks pink, she smiles as she rests her arms on the flat rock. Of all the questions Hilda could ask, _Is it tiring having five different feelings every minute?_ somehow tops the list.

“Have you always been here?” she asks instead. Surely she didn’t miss something this interesting all these years. 

“No, I just wanted somewhere private to sing.” Annette drops her chin to her arms. “I’m not supposed to talk to humans.”

“So? Living by other people’s rules is boring.”

“Um, it’s also pretty important? I could cause my whole family trouble if humans find out about us.”

If Hilda were in Annette’s shoes (or lack thereof), Holst would never get over it. “It’ll be our little secret, then.”

“You swear you won’t tell anyone?” 

Tired of yelling, Hilda climbs down to the little stretch of beach and walks until the water laps at her toes. Annette seems mesmerized by every movement, like even Hilda’s knees are rare and mythical. 

“Pinky promise,” Hilda says, bending to hold out her finger. Annette stares at it, even though their hands look the same—her oddities end around her elbows, where translucent fins flutter against the rock. 

“Pinky promise?”

“Oh, it’s a super serious promise. One you would never break. You just have to link your pinky in mine, and we’ll shake on it,” Hilda says.

“And if we broke it? What sort of curse would fall on us?”

“There’s no curse, silly. It’s just to prove we mean it.”

Annette finally seems to relax as she wraps her wet finger around Hilda’s, her skin surprisingly warm. 

“Then, I will honor this sacred human pact,” Annette says, her voice grave. She breaks into a giggle, her tail flapping up against the surface and splashing water. Hilda rises before her dress can get soaked. 

“I like your accessories,” she says, gesturing to the seashells clipped in Annette’s hair and ears. 

“Thanks! Yours are way prettier.”

Hilda fingers her sapphire necklace. “You think so? I do like to dabble in jewelry making.”

“Me, too!”

“Really? Then maybe you could do something with this.” Hilda pulls out the seashell from before, a little hesitant. “I was going to make something for my friend, but… I probably won’t bother.”

“If it’s for your friend, you should keep it. Mercie and I trade shells all the time.”

“If you say so. It’s probably less of a pain for you to find good ones, huh?”

“Do you want me to find some for you?”

Hilda sits carefully in the sand, tucking her knees to the side. “Would you? That would be _so_ nice of you.”

“It’s nothing. Actually, um, I was hoping you could tell me what it’s like on land?” Annette rests her chin in her hands. Oh, so this isn’t just a favor. 

“Sorry to disappoint you, but life out here is boring.” Hilda draws aimless designs in the sand with her finger. “But the balls used to be fun.”

“Balls? Like, for playing?”

“Oh, no. Though some types of playing happen at them.”

Her wink is lost on Annette. As she describes the decorations strung up in a grand ballroom, the billowing gowns, and the swelling music, Annette sighs happily and flaps her tail. It all almost regains its shine. 

Of course, before she became an adult, nobody expected her to find a spouse among a dull crop of nobles. Besides, Holst tries to chaperone her meetings, spoiling even the ones he arranges. The only fun part is making accessories for her and her friends to wear—and for Bernadetta to collect, in exchange for Bernadetta’s embroidery, since she never shows up. Hilda even designed a whole outfit, complete with glass slippers, so Dorothea could attend as something besides a songstress. Her wedding to a princess was just announced. 

That story thrills Annette even more than Holst’s heroic adventures, back when he ran off with Balthus. Now that he’s home, people expect more of him than of Balthus, whose reputation never recovered. Hilda thinks of running off, too, just to ruin her own reputation, but it would be a pain.

“Just between you and me, at least he’s better at magic than Holst,” Hilda says. 

“Are most humans not good at magic?”

“It’s mostly the brainiacs that are. Do you come with special sea magic?”

“I don’t know about ‘come with,’ but I love magic! I wish I could have adventures on land, too. Do you think I could learn to walk, if I tried hard enough?”

“I dunno. You already slipped off that rock.” Hilda expects Annette to blame her for that, but Annette just looks put out. 

“Yeah, that happens a lot. I guess I should stick to the water.” Biting her lip, she looks at Hilda like that’s the last thing she wants to do. “I’d better get going. I need to find lots and lots of seashells for all your great stories. Let’s see, how many was that?”

“We don’t need to keep track. If we see each other enough, it’ll all even out, don’t you think?”

“Is that really okay, though?”

Before, Annette’s fretting about rules bored her, but Hilda finds her heartbeat spiking at the idea of never seeing Annette again. 

“I’ll make you some accessories, how’s that?” Hilda offers in a rush. What’s wrong with her, doing someone a favor just to earn their company, rather than the other way around?

“But wouldn’t I still owe you, then?”

Thinking, Hilda smoothes her dress and wraps her arms around her knees. “If you want to do something else for me, you could sing another one of those songs.”

“Oh, now you’re just making fun of me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Annette’s singing could liven up even the most tedious ball. Then again, her songs would be wasted on the stuffier nobles. Besides, Annette would probably go overboard and ruin her voice, like a clam a pearl has been pried from. Sharing it with Hilda is enough. 

“Pinky promise?” Annette asks.

“Pinky promise.” 

Hilda shakes Annette’s finger again before Annette slips from view. If Hilda looks closely, she can see ripples in the currents leading out from the shore, little disruptions in the monotonous flow. When they settle, she hauls herself over the outcropping and hurries back home to her crafting table. 


End file.
